Hunter Hunted Jack Gatland (spanish books to read txt) 📖

judge of character, although lousy, isn’t that bad. So what’s going on?’

‘I saw Kendis yesterday,’ Declan mumbled. ‘Secret meeting, right here, in this cemetery. This morning Trix appeared at my doorstep, telling me that Baker and a security company called Rattlestone are trying to take out both Kendis and myself, seemingly unconnected to each other and, and I heard a recording of that prick with the glasses attack Monroe.’

‘Do you still have it?’

‘I can get it.’

‘So we find proof and we nail the bastard,’ Anjli suggested. ‘What do we do about Kendis though? I can’t see you stepping back.’

‘I’m not,’ Declan replied. ‘Someone wants to create a new narrative, one where Kendis is a terrorist sympathiser whose word is worth shit.’

‘They don’t want her being believed,’ Anjli nodded.

Declan looked back to the tent, and to the hidden body of the woman he’d loved since he was a teenager.

‘Charles Baker started this,’ he hissed. ‘And now he’s going to pay.’

He pulled out his phone, dialling Jessica’s number. Someone had taken it, and he wanted to know who, and why.

As the phone started to ring, however, Declan saw Frost stop, touching his pocket, as if feeling something vibrate.

Then Frost turned to Declan, looking at him across the cemetery.

And smiled.

The call, unanswered, went to voicemail and Declan stared at the man with the rimless glasses, once more in his life, knowing without a doubt that not only did he attack and almost kill Alexander Monroe, but he also stole Jessica’s bag.

And that meant war.

11

Paparazzi

It wasn’t far from Brompton Cemetery to Kendis and Peter Taylor’s Putney house, and so Declan and Anjli decided to make the journey there now, to see if Peter was back from the trip he’d taken. Not only did he need to be told of the murder, but as next of kin he needed to officially identity the body of Kendis Taylor.

There was nobody in when they knocked on the door. Declan was a little relieved at this though; the last thing he wanted was to face Kendis’ husband the day after he’d left her bedroom in a walk of shame.

‘We’ll come back later,’ he suggested.

‘Billy and Frost can do it,’ Anjli replied. ‘Remember, this is their case right now. We’re just doing this because Sutcliffe wanted to be a prick to you.’

‘Is there a problem?’ An elderly, female voice spoke from the side, and Declan turned to see a small, frail old lady, a mop of white hair on her head leaning out of next door’s front door.

The one he’d passed the previous day.

He froze, completely sure that the old woman would recognise him, but after a moment he smiled and pulled out his warrant card.

‘Nothing to worry about,’ he said, showing it to the old lady. ‘I’m DI Walsh, and this is DS Kapoor. We were just looking for Peter Taylor.’

The old lady squinted at the IDs as they were shown. ‘Have we met?’ she asked.

‘No ma’am,’ Declan lied. ‘In fact, could you give us your name?’

‘Edith,’ she replied. ‘Edith Langham.’

‘Well Mrs Langham,’ Anjli leaned in now, passing her business card over. ‘When Mister Taylor returns, can you pass this to him and ask him to call us? We’d be very grateful.’

‘Is this about the woman?’ Edith read the business card, putting it away in her pocket.

‘Woman? You mean his wife?’ Declan asked.

‘Yes,’ Edith replied. ‘Always out, she was. Didn’t come back last night, neither. I would have heard her through the doors. Had men over too, when he wasn’t here.’

‘Men?’ Declan asked carefully. ‘More than one?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Edith spoke with the tone of an expert in the subject. ‘She claimed it was work related, but some were quite unsavoury. The swarthy one in the denim jacket was here yesterday morning, right after another man left yesterday morning, half dressed.’

‘Half dressed?’ Anjli glanced at Declan. ‘Do you remember what he looked like?’

Edith looked at Declan. ‘Like him,’ she said. ‘But older. Fatter maybe. Similar hair.’

Declan released a silent, held breath. ‘So a tall, fat Caucasian man with brown hair?’

‘I know it’s quite generic,’ Edith continued. ‘But it was early, and I hadn’t had my tea yet.’

Declan smiled. ‘Anything you give is helpful,’ he replied. ‘Please, pass that to Peter Taylor when you see him.’

With the conversation now ended, Declan and Anjli walked back to the car.

‘You’re a lucky bastard,’ Anjli whispered as they reached it. ‘If she clocked you, that could have been game over. I’m guessing it was you she saw?’

Declan nodded. ‘And I think the swarthy man was Nasir Gill, her photographer,’ he replied.

‘Then you’re bloody lucky that you look like shit first thing in the morning,’ Anjli finished as she entered the car. Declan breathed out a pent up breath of frustration, climbing into the driver’s seat, and a moment later they drove off back towards Temple Inn.

Neither of them noticed the black Ford Focus with the shaven headed man that was parked across the road, watching them leave and noting the time down in his journal.

When they arrived back at Temple Inn, there was some kind of argument occurring with Sutcliffe, already taking over Monroe’s office, screaming at Billy and Frost.

‘I don’t care where they got it!’ he shouted. ‘I want to know how it was taken in the first place!’

‘Problem?’ Declan asked as he and Anjli entered the office. Sutcliffe looked up at them.

‘I’d say it was probably you, as you love leaking shit to the press, but your point of contact is the sodding story this time,’ he said, spinning his monitor to reveal the front page of The Daily Mail’s website. On it was a photo of a man, standing outside Brompton Cemetery, baseball cap and aviator glasses hiding his face. It was a zoomed in photo, so the image was grainy and slightly blurred. Under it read the headline

FACE OF A KILLER

FACE OF A TERRORIST

‘What the hell is that?’ Declan explained, moving in for a closer look. ‘Who gave them this?’

‘That, DI Walsh is